With nine kids who range in age from 5 to 27, I don't leap into action when I hear the inevitable progression from smack to shriek to the thundering approach of the tattle train. But what I heard the other day was a little different. Five-year-old Atticus, red-faced, appeared and said, "I had to hit Will! He wouldn't accept my apology!" At the same moment, Will, two years older, leapt down the last stair. "I'm hurt! I'm very badly hurt! My arm and my feelings. He should have said sorry twice!"

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Welcome to my very sorry family. One of our cardinal rules is that anyone in the wrong must apologize for a transgression and ask for it to be accepted. This family practice, which does work (usually), is something I learned when I was a young mom and my now-grown son Rob was about 6. He pointed out that Dad and I apologized to each other when we made mistakes — but not to his brothers and him if we, say, swore or shouted or handed out unfair consequences. It was a moment of lightbulb logic: Apologize to your kid? What a concept! I had parents who were often wrong but never apologized. To admit even the most horrible mistake would have been parental heresy. It would have implied weakness, or diluted authority. Anarchy! So when my parents messed up, my brother and I found ourselves in the surreal situation of having to pretend that nothing had happened, which, if it didn't rock our world, certainly fragmented our sense of justice. I didn't want that for my own children, so from that night forward, I insisted that everyone in our household apologize to each other, and that we make sure the aggrieved party got the message.

But it was hard! Often, my husband and I were so embarrassed when we transgressed that we continued to put off repentance or avoid it altogether. We still thought of ourselves as "the law," and had to recognize humbly that being bigger or older, paying for the Legos, the soccer shoes, or even college, doesn't always make you right. When we finally started to walk the walk, the kids noticed right away. In fact, they began trying to convert other families as well. I was with Will when his friend's father hit the roof and let fly a string of minor cuss words. The dad turned to me and asked pardon. Will, then 6, piped up: "Are you going to say sorry to your kid?"

Later, I reminded Will that different families have different ways, but I've come to favor ours. The three most beautiful words may not be "I love you." When warranted, they may be, "I was wrong." No big deal. No huge scene. Saying sorry just tells children that they are more than beloved, they're considered people of integrity by their parents, who want them to go into the world respecting authority, but respecting themselves more.

Best-selling author Jacquelyn Mitchard's latest novel, Second Nature, came out last month.